“Try me,” I dare.
The warmth of his mouth is soft and inviting.
Marco’s lips quiver, yielding to my touch.
And without words we say what needs to be said.
Every contour, every layer of him, provokes curious exploration.
My hand curls into his jacket, claiming him, in case there was any doubt.
We forget the world, letting desire consume us.
Sweet surrender to the rhythm of need.
Fire threads through my body, between my legs.
Pausing right on the cusp, I leave Marco to unravel there.
A casual tease of my hand confirms the swell down under.
“Knees weak?” I whisper.
He leans back against the headrest.
Eyes closed, breath faltering, he gives a subtle nod.
“To be continued?”
“To be continued.”
???
The city loosens its grip as we drive closer to the A2.
Buildings shrink in height.
Industrial warehouses replace them.
Suburbs scatter further apart, separated by wide pockets of grass.
Tank full and tires checked, we reach Ipswich.
Nearing the overbridge, I pull over to the side.
“Remember what Sam was saying the other day?”
“Yeah.”
I hand him the keys.
“I think this should be your moment.”
Switching into the driver's seat, he adjusts the mirror half an inch.
His sandwich from earlier remains untouched.
Nervous is an understatement.
